Living Fictionally: “Ithaca: Part 2” by Helen Lowe

Last Sunday, I commenced getting fictional with the first instalment of a “legendary history” short story, Ithaca.

Ithaca, was originally published in JAAM in 2008 (the same year my first novel, Thornspell, was published), edited by Tim Jones.

Since the ‘getting fictional” commenced on March 8, International Women’s Day, it seemed fitting to feature my take on one of the great legendary stories, told from the point of view of the woman at the heart of the tale.

Ithaca: Part 2

… No, to avoid blood feud and Medea’s fate, I must find a stratagem, something worthy of my husband Odysseus, the deviser of the wooden horse.

I say as much to Eurykleia when we go walking along the cliffs, ostensibly to gather herbs for the subtler colours used in my weaving. She cackles, of course, because Odysseus was her first nurseling and her darling, even more so than Telemachus, on whom she dotes. She nods when I tell her that I have discarded the idea of asking Menelaus for military help, then nods again, agreeing, when I say that poison will not serve us either.

“A pity,” she wheezes, “but you’re right, it will not do.”

She moves on, stooping to pick up a herb here and a weed there with her quick, knotted fingers. “But there may be another way.” Her eyes, sharp still and bright, peer up at me. I wait as she straightens, knowing she will unravel the strands of her thought in her own time.

“I have been talking with Eumaeus,” she says, and shakes her head, checking me. “I know, I know, you did not like his idea of a champion before, and you were right. It was early days, the wooers were less certain and we had good hope that Odysseus might soon return.” Her seamed face works briefly, before she puts the old grief aside. “But what if there was someone who looked enough like Odysseus to fool the world, given that no-one here has seen him for twenty years? And,” she adds softly, “if you and I, and Eumaeus, all swore to signs by which we knew him?”

I frown, looking away, but I know that Eurykleia is right. It would solve the problem of legitimacy if the whole island believed the champion to be Odysseus himself, returned to reclaim his kingdom and his rights. My voice, when I speak, sounds hollow as the sea. “Could there be such a man?”

She will not look at me either, but she has her answer ready. “Eumaeus says there is. You know how he likes to go down to the markets and the trading ships, picking up the tales men tell? He has heard there of a man who could suit our purpose, one who was castaway on the shores of Phaecia, far enough from here to be safe for us. Apparently this man has forgotten his name and his country, and so serves as bodyguard and champion to their Royal Daughter, she who will be Queen there one day, in her turn. All speak well of him, of his strength in arms, his courage and cunning in battle. Nor is he a young man, they say, but a seasoned warrior – just the man we need.”

I shake my head. “Why would such a one aid us? He will want to stay close and marry this princess, becoming King to her one-day Queen.”

Eurykleia’s sidelong look is shrewd. “They will never let a nameless man, the sea’s leaving, be King in Phaecia, no matter how greatly they esteem him.”

“But would such a man be content with the payment we can offer?” I ask, doubtful still. “Ithaca is not Mycenae, to buy the world with its wealth. And what if he betrays us, bargains with the suitors for a better price?”

Her fingers work and rework at a sprig of herb until it frays into nothing, and she keeps her head turned away. Her voice, when she speaks, is low. “The suitors cannot make him a King, Lady. Only you can do that.”

I stand very still, looking out across an ocean that I do not see. I have never before admitted, even to myself, the possibility that Odysseus is never coming home. And yet I must, at some subconscious level, have accepted it long ago. It is ten years, after all, since the Greek fleet left Troy for home, and all the other Kings are accounted for, either returned or buried. I have waited far beyond wisdom, enduring beyond hope, which is the reason the suitors persist in my home – that and because Ithaca still follows the old ways. It is the man who marries the Queen who is King here: why else would the young men woo me so assiduously?

I let go my breath, trying to think it through. At least the love I had once borne Odysseus could have softened his return into a household that had been without him for so long. But another man, and a stranger … And what would it mean for Telemachus, my heart’s darling? What if this bought champion, this castaway, saw him as a threat, just as the suitors do? As he well might, since I have borne no daughter to be Queen after me, and the old ways are changing, even here. There is a good chance that Telemachus could become King in his turn, providing he lives and brings home a suitable Queen.

“What if he harms Telemachus?” I whisper my fear aloud. “We could never tell anyone else the truth, and it would be no more than this man’s right, as a father, to kill the one we had sworn was his son.”

“Your suitors will kill Telemachus anyway.” The old woman is fierce as she whispers back. “Haven’t you seen how they watch him? And what will they do to you, once they have tasted blood? There is no more time, my lady, no more time.” Her old face twists, and I reach out and take her hand. But there is no comfort in my thoughts, which return to my pre-dawn forebodings and the behaviour of Antinous the previous day. I sigh, reflecting that it is always best to accept what the Fates send, without railing.

“Let it be done,” I say at last. “I will give you the money that is needed, but you and Eumaeus must arrange it all, the hiring of this man and his passage here. And I – I will send Telemachus to Sparta.”

"THE HEIR OF NIGHT by Helen Lowe is a richly told tale of strange magic, dark treachery and conflicting loyalties, set in a well realized world."--Robin Hobb

Thornspell

Jacket art by Antonio Javier Caparo

Thornspell is my first novel and is published by Knopf (Random House Children's Books, USA). It won the Sir Julius Vogel Award 2009 for Best Novel: Young Adult and was a Storylines Childrens' Literature Trust Notable Book 2009.